by L. P. Dover
Julia Crane ~ Freak of Nature
J.A. Huss ~ Tragic
Cameo Renae ~ Hidden Wings
A.J. Bennett ~ Now or Never
Tabatha Vargo ~ Playing Patience
Beth Balmanno ~ Set in Stone
Ella James ~ Selling Scarlett
Tara West ~ Visions of the Witch
Heidi McLaughlin ~ Forever Your Girl
Melissa Andrea ~ The Edge of Darkness
Komal Kant ~ Falling for Hadie
Melissa Pearl ~ Golden Blood
Alexia Purdy ~ Breathe Me
Sarah M. Ross ~ Inhale, Exhale
Brina Courtney ~ Reveal
Amber Garza ~ Falling to Pieces
Anna Cruise ~ Maverick
Read on for a sneak peek at Last Chance: A Second Chances novel by L.P. Dover and Forever My Girl by Heidi McLaughlin.
“Crank, you stupid piece of donkey shit. Just two more miles, that’s it. I promise to never starve you again!” I yelled, slamming my hands against the steering wheel. I turned the key one last time, but the damn thing just sputtered. Groaning, I closed my eyes and rested my head against the wheel.
My sister was busy working at the restaurant we owned, and my best friend was most likely busy with her new, dreamy, football-playing husband. I had no one to call. When had I become such a loser?
Huffing, I pulled a pair of shorts and a tank top out of my bag and stripped down. If I was going to walk two miles in the blistering heat, I wasn’t going to do it wearing a blouse and pants. Already drenched in sweat, I got out of the car and winced as the sun beat down on my skin. There wasn’t a single cloud to hide the unforgiving sun. Summer was brutal in North Carolina.
“This has to be payback for something,” I whined, trekking alongside the road. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, the worst time of day. Either everyone was at work, or at home, relaxing by their pools. I was never going to let my car get below a quarter of a tank again. Ever.
A couple of people honked their horns, but no one stopped. What ever happened to southern hospitality?
A rumble came up from behind and a muffled shout called out, “Lara!”
Jerking to a stop, my breath caught in my lungs. I was surprised he would even take the time to pull over for someone in need. Luke Collins was all about getting pussy, twenty-four-seven. And I hated the fact I’d ever had a crush on him. Granted, he had gotten much worse since losing Kate to Cooper, but he was just such a douchebag. I guess putting his dick in whatever skank he could find was his way of dealing with a broken heart.
“Lara?” he shouted again.
Placing my hands on my hips, I turned, the light breeze from cars driving by blew my blonde hair into my face. He shut off his bike and slid off his helmet, his hair drenched in sweat. He gave me a smile that made me shiver. Damn him. “What do you want, Luke?”
“I saw your car down the road and figured you needed help.” He paused and raked his gaze down my body. “Unless you’ve got a new job I don’t know about. You are looking pretty hot in those shorts.”
I scoffed and muttered, “I guess I should’ve expected that, having a vagina and all.”
He squinted and leaned forward. “What?”
“It was good of you to notice,” I said loudly. “But I don’t think many men will want me after I’ve been out here, sweating my ass off.”
His gaze lowered to my hips. “We don’t want that, now do we, cupcake? I like it the way it is. Where are you going?”
Rolling my eyes, I took a step back and continued walking backward, refusing to give him another chance to check out my ass. “To the gas station. My car ran out of gas.”
Grinning from ear to ear, he started his bike and slowly trailed me.“I see. Then it looks like I get to rescue you.”
“More like patronize me. Why are you even here? Don’t you have some groupies waiting for you somewhere?”
He chuckled and nodded toward something behind me. “Head’s up.”
Gasping, I turned around and almost walked headfirst into a road sign. I dodged it and turned right back around, giving him my front once again.
“I know my face is gorgeous and you can’t get enough, but maybe you should turn around and watch where you’re walking.”
“As if.” I huffed. “I don’t want you staring at my ass. I know how you are.”
“Then get on my bike. I’ll take you to get some gas.”
“No thanks. I’ll do it on my own.”
He revved his engine, his smile fading. “No, you’re not, Lara. Now get on the damn bike.” Turning around, he unhooked the extra helmet from the back and held it out to me. “It’s a hundred degrees out here, you’re being ridiculous.”
I huffed and continued walking. “I’ll be fine.”
Slamming on the brakes, he got off his bike and stalked toward me. “You don’t have any water, and I don’t see anyone else stopping to give you a hand. Now stop being a silly woman, and get on the fucking bike.”
“What, are you going to make me? Get over yourself. I’ll be fine.”
He cracked his knuckles. “I’ll chase you down. You can’t outrun me, cupcake. I wouldn’t even try.”
He was right, and it drove me crazy. I didn’t want to be indebted to him under any circumstances, but would I really cut my nose off to spite my face? It was scorching out, and I didn’t need to get heatstroke over this. “Fine, I’ll come with you,” I said, giving in.
A triumphant smile splayed across his face and I wanted to smack it off. He held the helmet out to me and I put it on, not having any idea how to work the straps.
Grabbing my waist, he pulled me toward him. “Here, let me fix it.” His fingers brushed against my neck as he tightened the straps. After he was done, he stared at me with his sea-green eyes. “Feel okay?”
I nodded, though my patience was shot. “Peachy.”
He got on his bike first and held out his hand. “Have you ever ridden before?”
“No.” My stomach turned in knots.
He smirked. “You’ll be okay, I promise. We don’t have to go far. All you need to do is reach around my waist and hold on tight. It’ll be over before you know it.”
Taking my hand, he held it while I straddled his bike. It wasn’t one of those big Harley ones either; it was a sleek, black sport bike. I reached around his waist to hold on, and my body was flush with his. After he put on his helmet, his hand landed on my thigh and my body tightened.
“You ready?”
“I think so.”
He patted my leg and I sucked in a deep breath. Here we go.
A light snore reminds me that I’m not alone. The heaviness of a body sprawled out, sets me off immediately. The stale smell of day old perfume lingers in the air and on my sheets.
The curtains are pulled back, the sun shining through the large window, which affords me the best view and privacy.
Rolling over, there’s a face I don’t remember. A face that holds no name in my recollection or any vivid memory of how she ended up in my hotel room let alone my bed.
The bed part I can probably figure out.
The blonde hair tells me that I didn’t bother to get her name or ask her what her favorite drink was. Guaranteed our conversation was eyes, hands and lips only. There is one hair color that can make my heart beat and blonde isn’t it.
Neither is red.
Eyes too.
Never blue.
They have to be brown or green, never blue.
This isn’t a downward spiral or some drug induced moment. I don’t do drugs, never have, but I may drink excessively on occasions like last night. This is me coping with my mistakes and failures. I may be successful when I’m on stage, but at night I’m alone.
And so freaking scared of dying alone.
I reach for my phone to check the time. Instead I pull up the gallery that holds her image, my thumb hovering over her face. I’ll see her when I go home and I don’t know what I’ll say.
I know she
hates me.
I hate me.
I ruined her life. That is what her voice message said. The one I’ve saved for the past ten years. The one I’ve transferred from phone to phone just so I could hear her voice when I’m at my lowest. I can recite every hateful word she said to me when I was too busy to answer and never found the time to call her back.
Never found one second to call and explain to her what I had done to us. She was my best friend and I let her slip through my fingers just to save myself from the heartache of hearing she didn’t want me anymore.
I had dreams too.
And my dreams included her, but she would never have gone for it. I’m not living her American Dream. I’m living my own.
My decision destroyed everything.
My nameless bed cohabitant reaches out and strokes my arm. I move away quickly. Now that I’m sober, I have no desire to be anything to this person.
“Liam,” she says through her seductive tone that sounds like a baby. It makes my skin crawl when women talk like this. Don’t they see that it makes them sound ridiculous? No man worth his nuts likes this sort of thing. It’s not sexy.
Wrapping the sheet around my waist I sit up and swing my legs over the edge, away from her and her wandering hand. My back tenses when I feel the bed shift. Standing, I pull the sheet tighter to keep myself somewhat covered. I shouldn’t care, but
I do. She’s seen me in the dark, but I’m not affording her or her camera another look.
“I’m busy.” My voice is strict, a well-practiced monotone. “Jorge, the concierge, will make sure you get a cab home.”
I sleep purposefully facing the bathroom so I never have to look at them when I tell them to leave. It’s easier that way, no emotions. I don’t have to look at their faces and see the hope fade. Each one hopes they will be the one to tame me, to make me commit.
I haven’t had a steady girlfriend since I entered the industry and a one night stand isn’t about to change that. These girls don’t mean anything and never will. I could change. I could settle down and marry.
Have a kid or two. But why?My manager, Sam, would love it, especially if it was her. She’s my only repeat lay. The first time was an error in judgment, a lonely night on the road mistake. Now she wants more. I don’t.
When she told me she was pregnant I wanted to jump off a cliff. I didn’t want kids, at least not with her. When I think about having a wife, she’s tall and brunette. She’s toned from years of cheerleading and her daily five-mile run. She’s not a power hungry executive in the music industry who spoke of hiring nannies before a doctor could confirm her pregnancy.
She suggested marriage; I freaked and flew to Australia to learn to surf.
She miscarried two months in. I made a vow that we’d keep things professional from that point on and that is when I started my one night stand routine. Despite everything, she still loves me, and is waiting for me to change my mind.
“You know,” the barfly from last night starts to say in between shuffling and her huffed breathing as she puts on her clothes. “I heard you were a dick, but I didn’t believe it. I thought we had something special.”
I laugh and shake my head. I’ve heard it all, each one thinks we have something special because of the most amazing night they’ve ever had.
“I didn’t pick you for your brains.” I walk into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it for good measure.
Leaning against the door I bang my head against the solid wood. Each time I tell myself I’m going to stop, and I think I have until something makes me want to forget. My hands rake over my face in pure frustration.
I’m not looking forward to going home.
The reason for returning is staring at me from my bathroom counter. The page-long article of the guy I used to call my best friend. Picking up the paper, I read over the words that I have memorized.
Mason Powell, father of two, was killed tragically when the car he was driving was rear-ended by an eighteen wheeler.
Dead.
Gone.
And I wasn’t there.
I left like a coward when I didn’t say goodbye.
I changed my cell phone number because she wouldn’t stop calling. I had to make a clean break and Mason was part of that. She and Katelyn were best friends and he’d tell her where I was and what I was doing. It was better this way.
I was only meant to be gone a year. I told myself I’d return home after twelve months, make everything right and show her that I wasn’t the same person she fell in love with. She’d see that and thank me, move on and marry a yuppie businessman, one who wakes up every day and puts on a crisp dress shirt and pleated slacks that she’d iron in their Leave it to Beaver household.
I squeeze the paper in my hands and think about everything I’ve missed. I don’t regret it, I can’t. I did this for me and did it the only way I knew how. I just didn’t think I’d care so much about missing everything.
I missed the day he asked Katelyn to marry him. Something I knew he wanted to do since we were sixteen.
I missed his wedding and the birth of his twins. He was a father and a husband. He had three people who depended on him and now he’s gone. He’ll never see his children grow up and do the things that we did when we were younger. All the things we said our kids would do together. I missed this because I had something to prove to myself. I gave up on their dream and the life we had all planned out.
And now I’m heading home to face the music.